Icebergs, Whales and a Black Bear in Newfoundland.

Admiration and more than just a little bit of envy! These were feelings experienced on several occasions as Mick and I sat through inspirational slideshows on Alaska and Greenland at various sea kayaking symposia. What magic to get close to ice and nature in such isolation. And then we thought of all that cold and the need to have to make the decision to take a gun in case of bear attack and could we fire a gun if it did actually come to it. The entire organisation for these trips looked a bit complicated too and if something went wrong, well!

Then in October 1998, at Cwm Pennant, Linda Bartlet from the Newfoundland Department of Tourism gave a superb presentation on what this Canadian island had to offer. Large icebergs drifting on the Labrador Current close to a collection of uninhabited or sparsely habited small islands in Notre Dame Bay on the Eastern seaboard; several species of whale just off-shore; large numbers of sea birds; great walking in the Gros Morne National Park; unique geological features; a fascinating Inuit and Viking history and, importantly, sea kayaking outfitters! All, yes even the icebergs, accessible in early July in average temperatures of 20 degrees C. We were hooked from the first slide. Eagerly we picked up an excellent free map and numerous fliers, which were to be invaluable in our planning.

In early 1999 we phoned several kayaking outfitters to get a feel for possible options. Independent hire appeared not to be available anywhere. But with sea temperatures of only 3 degrees C. in the region we were planning on paddling in, and a maritime climate notorious for rapidly fluctuating wind, sea and air temperature conditions, it seemed a safer bet to go with an organised small group led by an experienced and knowledgeable guide. "Gros Morne Adventure Guides" offered a package that suited us admirably: a week-long canoe camping expedition among the islands of Notre Dame Bay in single kayaks with four-season tent, equipment and food provided. Bob, the proprietor e-mailed lots of detailed information. He could not have been more helpful and obliging, even down to enthusiastically offering Mick the use of his own personal, slim line, rudderless, fibreglass kayak rather than a large volume, North American style plastic ruddered boat. [Personally I was to be pleasantly surprised as to how comfortable and stable these plastic kayaks were. The amount of gear that could be fitted in them had to be seen to be believed!] We were advised to take wet suits as capsizing in these bitterly cold waters could prove disastrous, but this presented a dilemma. Neither of us wanted to paddle in a restrictive wet suit jacket and with the predicted air temperature, an alterative dry cag would cause overheating. Mick can unzip his long-john for a pee but with my different anatomy, I would have to strip virtually all top layers off to get the bottoms down. This is time consuming, awkward and hardly discreet on a beach! With no washing facilities except a nippy ocean for a week, just going for that lovely warm feeling down the legs was not an option. I decided on separate 5mm neoprene sleeveless vest and trousers with a thermal top and pertex cag. We kept neoprene skullcaps to hand. In the event no one capsized but we were putting ourselves to some degree of risk. We chose to take our own buoyancy aids as they fit comfortably and have useful pockets.

Air Canada flies direct from Heathrow to St. John's, the capital in just 5 hours. The time difference is only 3½ hours so jet lag is not a problem. Being an Atlantic crossing, baggage allowance is generous so the limit on filling a rucksack and large holdall each was what we could physically carry. We had already booked a hire car for a further fortnight after the kayaking trip, intending to stay the occasional night in B. & B. but mostly wilderness camping so we had quite a range of gear. Two interesting days were spent in a very hot and sunny St. John's at the end of June. We acquainted ourselves with a busy history relating to explorer John Cabot and his 1497 landing, British settlers, conflicts with the French, Marconi and transatlantic wireless communications, the first successful Atlantic flight by Alcock and Brown in 1919, involvement of "Newfies" in W.W.2, sealing and the declined Grand Banks fishing industry.

Newfoundland was an independent country until union with Canada in 1949 and we sensed throughout our stay a feeling of cultural difference. 95% of the islanders were born here. The population of the island is around two million.

We caught the daily long distance bus at 7.30 a.m. for the 7 hour journey through the inhospitable interior along the Trans- Canada Highway to Grand Falls-Windsor. There was virtually no traffic. The scenery never changed; mile upon mile of endless scrubby pine forest, which even an optimist would have to agree, was incredibly boring. Fortunately, on arrival, the bus stopped close to a wonderful small museum focusing on the history of the nomadic Beothuk or "Red Indian" of the region. The story of their population decline and eventual extinction in 1829 is a sad and all too familiar one. Praising its content to the young curator as we left when it closed, she asked where we were staying. Amazingly it was her aunt's B. &. B. and she insisted on driving us there! This typified the helpfulness and friendliness of everyone we met in Newfoundland. Her aunt had already agreed that we might leave our un-needed belongings in her spare room for the week even though we would not be staying there again on our return.

A day later and we were picked up en-route at the B. & B. by the rest of the group. Richard Alexander, our leader, and assistant Dean Howell, both born and bred in Newfoundland, accompanied Cheryl, Dave and Phil, mainland Canadians. They'd already had a 3-hour drive but it was just a further hour to our launch spot at Lawrence's Hole. It drizzled heavily while unloading the trailer and packing the boats with personal and communal gear, food for the duration and 3 days supply of water.As we paddled out into Notre Dame Bay, the sun appeared in a rapidly clearing sky. Suddenly the whole group shouted loudly in unison: "Iceberg!" It was big, in the distance, we weren't going to get close to this one today but never mind, it was proof they were here! With world climatic change there are no guarantees they would be. The bergs have broken from the massive Arctic and Greenland glaciers and drifted south, very slowly melting and disintegrating on their journey. It was not far from here that Titanic had its unfortunate encounter with one. They remain a major hazard to shipping and especially to the Hibernia deep-sea oilrigs so they are all closely monitored. Everyone's spirits were lifted even higher than they had already been in this superb paddling environment and every minute was savoured as we steadily and easily made our way past Hummock Island and onto uninhabited Pond Island, our camp spot for the night. All the islands we were to pass in our travels were once Maritime Archaic Indian, Groswater and Dorset Eskimo and Beothuck Indian summer homes, ideally located close to the fishing grounds, sea birds and seals.

The ferocious squall struck after coming up on us at speed. Our geodesic tent was up but not yet properly pegged down. I was inside and truly believed that it and I would take off down the painfully rocky hillside. The sky blackened further, the lightening flashed unhealthily close by and thunder boomed. I'm not ashamed to say that at that moment I was frightened! Mick frantically struggled to hold on while I got out and together we managed to get it undamaged into a more sheltered position. The rain didn't last long but the wind continued, churning the sea and making us all wonder what tomorrow might bring.

We woke to nothing more sinister than an overcast sky. Today just had to be "iceberg day". After loading and launching we had a fantastic paddle to Long Island and our first up-front encounter with a huge berg. It was a good 100 feet high and extremely beautiful. Pure white and sculptured by the weather. At water level it was undercut and at this point the colour changed to a rich emerald green, which spread down beneath the water and outwards towards us.

We were all itching to get up close but Richard instructed us not to get closer than five times its height as bergs frequently flip over with no warning. We were absolutely forbidden to touch. In awe we paddled round in a decreasing circle certainly getting closer than the recommended distance! Kayaking is all about risk taking isn't it? It was difficult to tear ourselves away but there was more to come.

In a sheltered bay several small bergs sat scattered about. The sea was a mass of varying sized chunks and everywhere was a loud hissing as it very, very slowly melted releasing oxygen bubbles trapped 10,000 years ago. Mick and I scooped small ice pieces up and let them melt in our mouths. In the future every ice cube at home will transport me back to this moment in time and to this place. It was an incredible experience.

Again reluctant to leave, our route took us past Little Berry and Hornet Islands with a stop for lunch on Swan Island. There was a sign on the beach stating that the island was a crown land reserve, protected for all to enjoy. Continuing our journey, we approached the Duck Islands to find another large berg just waiting for us.

It towered above us and we felt insignificant and rather vulnerable in our small craft. Completely different to the others, it had tones of colour and long cracks top to bottom that had filled with water and refrozen. There were grooves, knife sharp ridges and a huge, sculptured owl shape peering down on us all. [Our photos haven't done real justice to what was before us.] The whole group felt very satisfied that one of the primary goals of the trip had been fulfilled. After collecting some suitable ice chunks to replenish the cool box, we happily headed up the channel to sheltered Garden Cove on Exploits Islands to camp for the next three nights. We had worn winter hats for part of the day as there had been a chilly wind at times but we hadn't needed to use our pogies which surprised us.

Richard and Dean's first priority was always to erect the tarp. Richard had been on a weeklong course on tarp construction and deployment. Americans and Canadians regard it as an essential piece of "The Great Outdoors" equipment. Basically this one had 5 sides supported by 4 poles. It provided one open side, and it very effectively protected from the elements. We were so impressed by the concept that we have since purchased a tarp. Richard did all the cooking for the group sitting on his tripod stool under it. The group did their bit by ensuring all food was consumed plus the washing up.

Richard had also trained with B.C.U. coach Kevin Mansell [of Jersey Canoe Club] on a course in Nova Scotia. Mick and I were impressed throughout by the leadership, their teamwork, planning, organisation, safety considerations, equipment, and varied, delicious food. Low impact camping was of prime importance on this trip and all rubbish was carefully bagged up and finally taken back to the Centre for disposal. A trenching tool was used when a "squat" was needed.

The night became progressively chillier and despite our 3 season sleeping bags, silk liners and thermals, we needed to wear our fleece jackets in bed too. The morning presented an unseasonably bitterly cold wind of force 6. Paddling in this would be foolish so wearing walking boots we set out to explore Exploits Islands on foot, Dean giving a humorous on-going lecture on the abundant flora and fauna. The group had jelled together well and we were enjoying each other's company. Our companions were aged between 30 to 40 years, somewhat younger than our middle 50's.

We arrived in the village. Once the largest in Notre Dame Bay, it had been a dropping off point for fish from Labrador. Churches, a store, a school and medical services were available to the residents at the turn of the century. The place seemed deserted. Most buildings had been abandoned or were used as holiday retreats. One secluded derelict property had literally thousands of beer bottles strewn under its raised ground floor. The story was that two Vietnam Draft dodgers had fled here from the States and lived in happy inebriation until it was safe to return.

After Newfoundland had voted by a narrow majority for confederation in 1949 great changes took place to these declining isolated fishing communities. Families were forced by the government in the 1960's to resettle in mainland towns to be more conveniently close to medical and education facilities. Whose convenience? We had seen photographs of complete wooden houses being dragged down beaches on tree trunks and floated in the bays on rafts to be towed by fishing boats to another place. I felt angry. Perhaps its ironic that the descendents of Europeans who had gradually squeezed Beothuck Indians out of their traditional coastal areas were in turn ousted. We visited the cemetery, read the old gravestones and climbed the hill behind. Four icebergs could be seen in the far distance and in this battering wind they would be moving at speed. Retracing our steps we met a local, a small boat owner making a new living: taking holidaymakers to see the islands. There was a loo on the jetty, and not being one to let an opportunity pass me by, I paid it a visit. Of small wooden construction it had a seat and was the long drop variety down to the water below. I didn't hang about too long as the upward spiralling icy draft hit my nether regions like something I'd never known before. I commented to the group that I knew now where the expression "Cold enough to freeze your nuts off" must have come from. There was a stunned silence. Dean's mouth dropped open and I suspected that "a lady" old enough to be your mother didn't usually go round making this type of observation in this neck of the woods. Fortunately a delayed chortle all round followed. We wandered back to camp. Our chosen site really was a lovely little cove, nestled between two outcroppings. Apparently it was where the past community had grown their vegetables. After lunch, we took to the kayaks armed with empty water bottles. There was a well in the village and now was a good opportunity to replenish our supply while seeing more of the environment.

The paddle against the wind was inordinately hard work but we made it across the bay. As we clambered out on a small, slippery sea weedy beach for a rest, a young boy appeared. He excitedly jumped up and down while yelling for his dad to come out of a nearby house and see us. Apparently we were not a common sight! Dad invited us to fill up our containers with water from his hose but the colour of it looked like it had come straight from a swamp so we politely declined. Ferry gliding, we headed for the well. Despite being only a few metres from the shoreline, the water was sweet and crystal clear so our efforts had been rewarded.

Arctic and common turns diving into the sea accompanied us on our wind-assisted return. Later that evening we watched incredulously as two stark-white icebergs raced past a pair of islands in the near distance looking like yachts in full sail. A couple of hours later we watched even more incredulously as the same two raced back again in the opposite direction! It began to rain and as we could now see our breath in the cold air we retreated to bed.

The wind had dropped next morning and with a reasonable weather forecast over the V.H.F. radio, we set out for an anticlockwise circumnavigation of Exploits Islands. All was well to begin with. We passed a tall sea stack with a pair of nesting osprey wheeling anxiously overhead until we moved on, and an ancient outflow of pillow lava. But as we changed from a sheltered S.E. direction to a more northerly one, we met an open ocean swell coming in from the Labrador Sea. The height increased in size the further we paddled and as one of our companions began to feel distinctly uncomfortable we turned about to see how far we could circumnavigate the other way round. The coastal environment was fantastic and it was good to be here. In Pilot's Cove, with its forsaken Pilot's House looking down on us, we toasted muffins over an open fire using the side of a broken lobster pot for support. Old lobster pots littered most of the beaches and care was needed not to tread on protruding rusty nails. The lobster industry seemed to be going strong as there were also vast numbers of new pots stacked on many islands too. We continued along the coast past Sturgeon Head Lighthouse up on the cliff. Dean told us that in the past boats were launched from here by letting them down the cliff face on ropes. It must have been an even more difficult job getting them back up again. Whales frequent the area we were now approaching to feed on the abundant caplin and all eyes were scanning the water ahead for any sign of waterspout or fin. Sadly it was not to be. The nearer we got to the open, unprotected ocean the larger the swell became again and sensibly we did another U-turn and headed back to camp for our third night on Exploits.

We struck camp under a clear blue sky, a hot sun and very little wind though the forecast predicted winds would pick up sharply later in the day. What a strange climate it is here. The sea was completely calm as we paddled S.W. between Exploits and Duck Islands and we made a fantastic open crossing to the mainland.

Landing in Northern Harbour, a beautiful small bay and once the site of a thriving fishing community, Richard and Dean plunged in for a swim, inviting us all to join them! I was the only one to take up the offer and after the initial shock it was actually quite refreshing! It was useful to try out the effectiveness of my little neoprene two-piece number in what was, here, probably no more than 10 degrees C.

Camp was quickly set up amongst an abundance of wild flowers, so many it was impossible to avoid them. After lunch we paddled out to investigate numerous little inlets, rock hop and observe bald eagles overhead. The calm was broken by the outboard motor of a small fishing boat and shouts of "Whale" from the friendly gesticulating crew. We stopped and all gently bobbed there silently scanning the surface. Our patience paid off for shortly, a fin appeared close by, a Minke, as it was triangular, not hooked back as with a Humpback and there was no tail fluke. There was excitement and great exaltation in the air as the whale surfaced once more before departing. I think we had all secretly hoped we might be the honoured one with it coming up immediately right along side our kayak. Something to look forward to in the future perhaps.

A very warm evening was spent on the beach with our companions, being introduced to an old Newfoundland custom of "Kissing a Cod and drinking Screech" by Richard and Dean. This involved drinking quantities of rum and actually kissing a small, dried, shrivelled, silvery caplin fish several times. Well, even at our age we're entitled to our bit of fun, aren't we? Behind us, wonderful reflections of a beautiful fiery red sunset could be seen in a calm inlet. We retired to bed and discovered the disadvantages of warm, calm weather as the mosquitoes descended in their droves upon us. Perhaps they are attracted to the smell of old fish. Wearing our Scottish head nets we drifted off to sleep to the gentle sounds of small waves on pebbles.

The morning of our last day dawned and efficient teamwork made for a quick departure. The sun intensified as we paddled out towards Muddy Hole Point. This stretch of coastline is comprised of grottos, cliffs and caves sculpted over the centuries by the North Atlantic. The narrow passageways of the point offered Mick, Richard and Phil a final shot of adrenalin as they sped through Ship's Run while the rest of us took the wider, easier route. From here to Lawrence's Hole the scenery became gentler.

The kayaks spread out, each of us finding private space to silently reflect on the many pleasures, and probably the discomforts, of the past week. Amongst other things, Mick and I came on this trip for icebergs and whales so our ambition had been achieved. Additionally five strangers had become our friends.Our further time in Newfoundland was immensely enjoyable pursuing several activities and "seeing the sights". Of particular mention were having a huge Humpback whale and her calf play right alongside our small tourist boat in Witless Bay. We followed several other Humpbacks blowing their waterspouts, in sea kayaks on a one-day hire, trying to get close without success!

A beautiful coastline led us to L'Anse aux Meadows in the far north: known to the Norse as Vinland. Windy weather up here foiled a booked day's kayak hire but that's the name of the game. Wild flowers filled the meadows we walked and camped in and mostly the sun shone down on us.

And the bear?

One evening at dusk, while rough camping on an isolated beach, a Black Bear ambled across the rocks towards us. This was completely unexpected even though we had previously picked up a bear awareness and safety leaflet. It was a heart-stopping moment. Suddenly the bear stopped in its tracks and did an about-turn. We presume it smelt our driftwood fire. Slightly panicking [understatement!] we grabbed all our food, toiletries and rubbish and shot up the small cliff to the car, put the items inside and deliberated what to do next. Deciding to stay, we built up the fire as large as we could and went to bed. Mick barely slept, expecting sharp claws to rip through the tent at any moment. I slept like a log. After all, what else is a husband for but to keep an eye on things for you?

© 10.08.2000. Linda Fitter

With apologies to any "lady" who may have read this.